Nakfoor: Remove obstacles to unlock potential

Moving offices last fall wasn’t an easy transition. Despite cinderblock walls, utilitarian tile and a boxy metal desk, the office held great appeal to my students and me, and I overlooked its lack of style — personal items couldn’t even brighten the dour aesthetic — because of its location in a nexus of student traffic and adjacent to the journalism classrooms.

There was always a hum of activity (the journalism department is located in a dormitory housing the cafeteria), and with my door, ever open, students stopped in on their way to class or when headed to dinner, weekends, too.

That energy was invigorating, as was developing relationships with students, especially those too shy to ask questions in class, many of whom I’d invite in as they walked past. These one-on-one sessions helped more than a few improve their grades, not to mention boost their confidence.

A Short Walk … Miles Away

Since September, though, I’m ensconced in a shared space in a building home to the medical school and office of the registrar, among other departments. The walk to class is no more than three minutes, but it’s seemingly miles from the former atmosphere to which I, and my students, had grown accustomed. It’s worlds away, too, from those organic connections so important to student and teacher success.

What’s also missing is that spark in the air from students rushing between classes or meeting their pals for a meal. The corridor in which my office sits is eerily quiet, and with most office doors closed, even when occupied, the character is monastic at best, unwelcoming at worst.

Still, my open door policy remains. While current students have yet to drop by, a handful from past semesters make their way to catch up. And some, like Jake, are looking for a comfortable place to have lunch. Which he did last week, paying me a compliment saying few instructors are as welcoming.

Please, come In

My open door last Wednesday afternoon was also what a random freshman needed. Desperate to add a class before the 5 p.m. deadline, and after pacing the hallway, he asked about my courses. We decided the workload would be too great, yet he remained interested in the course content, and eagerly shared a story about a writing award he won in high school. We also spoke about his post-graduation plans.

That I was on deadline for my evening class mattered little because his spirits improved as we spoke. My obligation, of course, is to the 60-odd students enrolled in my classes. And shame on me for prepping at the 11th hour. But when students call, they require immediate attention.

Glad my door was open

I’m curious, then, about closed doors in academia and the workplace and what message they send to students or young employees? Colleagues I queried about their door policies, some of which have paper-covered windows, explained needing uninterrupted time to write or conduct research, and not wanting to make eye contact with passers-by, as well as being introverted or wanting privacy to do a few yoga poses. I interpreted the responses as not very student-centric. Perception is reality.

Closed doors aren’t the only barriers young adults face. A former student emailed me recently with an update about her internship. Beyond sharing what she’s working on, her note mentioned interactions with her supervisors. Although sitting less than 10 feet from one another, they communicate almost exclusively via email she said.

To teach — in a classroom or the workplace — is a privilege, and only with barriers of any kind removed can we unlock great potential.